


A Proposition

by Satine86



Series: Past, Present, Future [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 23:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5435294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He finally brings it up while she's visiting him in Kirkwall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Proposition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OrilliaOrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrilliaOrange/gifts).



He finally brings it up while she's visiting him in Kirkwall. 

Sitting in his office, Cassandra quietly reading a one of his newest draft while he catches up on his messages. It was rather cozy, she had to admit. There's a fire in the hearth, she's tucked into a cushy chair. Next to her Varric is in his ridiculous wingback chair. 

Honestly the thing was big enough to be called a settee rather than a chair. A high back, with curved wings practically enfolding whomever was sat in it, upholstered in a ridiculous crushed velvet. She had wondered on more than one occasion where he had gotten such a thing. 

Varric sets aside his letters and reading glasses, and that immediately draws her attention. She looks up, brow quirked in question.

“I was reminded the other day of a… party. At Skyhold.” 

“Is that so?” she asks. He smiles at her in return, and Cassandra isn't sure what it means. But likely nothing good. 

“Yes, a party where you all but dragged me into the Herald's Rest after coming up with the strangest proposition.”

“I did not proposition you!” she blurts before she realizes her error. 

“Oh. Do you remember then?” His smile widens, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Please, do not remind me.” Cassandra covers her face with both hands. “I was so drunk, and it was so foolish. Why must you bring it up now?” 

“I thought it was sweet. More than a little weird. But still sweet.” 

“Ugh,” she moans. “I hate you.” 

He laughs, a low chuckle that is far too amused for her liking. “Now, now, Seeker, we know that isn't true. Not when I ply with your fresh stories so often.” 

Cassandra peeks out at him through her fingers, lips twitching upward. “The only redeeming thing about our friendship, to be honest.” 

“I'm hurt!” he cries, trying his very best to look pitiful. Cassandra isn't impressed. He continues on with the pouting, claps a hand to his chest, and unable to stop herself, her eyes follow the action. 

Varric, she is certain, notices. 

“Well?” he asks. 

“Well what?”

“Do you want to touch the chest hair? I said to ask me again when you were sober. You never did.” 

“I was embarrassed! 

“You can, if you want to. Rivaini's done it more times than I can count.” He leans back in his chair, pulls his tunic open a little wide, puffs his chair out. He looks ridiculous. Cassandra slaps a hand over her mouth, laughs until she gasping for breath. 

Varric sighs, shakes his head at her. “Your loss then, Seeker.” 

Really, she shouldn't let the opportunity pass her by. She is curious, has been for a long time, and for several reason she would not like to admit to. Though she needn't worry about those at the moment, because he offered, and she was going to take him up on it. 

“I will do it,” she says and rises from her chair. 

Varric pauses at her words, looking at her carefully. “You will?” 

“Yes.” She nods firmly, and he almost looks nervous. Though she can't imagine why. Not for something so silly, so innocuous. 

Except, she realizes when sits on the footstool in front of him, it is not so innocuous. She has touched Varric before, friendly hugs in greeting or when one of them departed. They had both helped tend the others wounds in the field. They had jostled and cajoled one another through the years they had known each other. This, however, seems like something more.

Shaking the thoughts from her head, Cassandra lifts her hand slowly, reaching out toward him. He looks more nervous now, though she can tell he's tying to hide. One hand is gripping the armrest tightly, and he swallows thickly. 

There is a pregnant moment as Cassandra pauses, her hand hovering over Varric's chest. Taking in a deep breath, she gently closes the gap, laying her hand against him. It is a simple gesture, truly no different than resting a friendly hand on someone's back. 

Except it feels tender… intimate. She looks up at Varric's face, can tell that he feels it too. She can see it by how soft his face is while he gazes down at her hand resting on his chest. She continues to watch him until he lifts his gaze to meet hers. There is something in his eyes, it is the same something she saw the night of the party. She still can't quite place what it is, but it makes her heart lurch. 

He takes in a deep breath, chest rising slightly, and absently Cassandra curls her fingers. Her nails rasping against his skin gently, digging into his hair. A heartbeat. Then their lips crash together in a furious kiss. 

She straddles his lap, hands trailing over his chest and neck, up to bury into his hair. His hands skirt along the hem of her shirt, fingers brushing the strip of exposed skin before finding their way underneath. He is warm, warmer than the fire at her back, and his touch leaves her wanting more. 

Arching against him, she wants to get closer. She tilts her head, slants her mouth against his and grinds her hips against his. He groans, low and deep in the back of his throat, and she does it again. One of them breaks the kiss, both panting, breath mingling. 

Varric isn't content though, moves his mouth to her jaw, her neck, kissing and sucking. Cassandra's fingers grip his hair a little tighter, her hips moving against his in a lazy pattern. He kisses her again, dragging her mouth down to his. She moves against him again, and this time they both groan. 

Time slows and Cassandra isn't sure how long she's been straddling his lap, but her lips are swollen and her face is overly warm. Their kisses slow down, become less urgent. She pecks his lips again, rests her forehead against his. 

“Hm,” Varric hums and she pulls back to look at him. His eyes are dark, hooded, a flush staining his cheeks and his hair a mess from her fingers. She assumes she must look the same, judging by the way he stares at her. 

“I guess...” he stops, clears his throat. “Guess I should've had you touch the chest hair a long time ago.” 

Cassandra is torn between groaning and laughing, settles for rolling her eyes and swatting his shoulder. He laugh and she moves off his lap, wedging herself between the chair and his body. Drawing up her legs to drape them over his lap, she nestles her face in the crook of his neck. 

He smells wonderful, and she's curious why she's never noticed before. She takes in a deep breath, and realizes it is the most secure she has felt in years. The happiest. 

Varric's hand slides up her thigh, over her hip. His clever fingers find a hint of bare skin where her shirt has ridden up, and he tickles her. She squirms away, nips at his neck. He laughs again. 

“If you keep teasing me, perhaps I won't kiss you again.” She lifts her head, glares without any real heat. 

He's still laughing when he tickles her again. “If you don't kiss me, perhaps I won't let you touch the chest hair.” 

“I suppose I am left with little choice then.” She sighs sadly, reaches and lays her hand against his chest again. He quirks a brow at her, and she giggles before craning her neck to kiss him.


End file.
